


Accidental Mistress

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Dubious Consent, Multi, soulbond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: Hermione killed Bellatrix Lestrange during the Final Battle. Right of Conquest leads her to an unexpected inheritance. What on earth is she going to do?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Rodolphus Lestrange
Comments: 27
Kudos: 165
Collections: Love Fest 2021





	1. Midnight Owls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LionLadyBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionLadyBee/gifts).



> So... this probably looks a lot sexier than it is. This is more "Hermione fumbling her way toward being a good Domme" than it is anything else. Sorry about that? This is a thing that's been sitting in my head since 2013, but I never really knew what to do with it. 
> 
> So thanks LionLadyBee for this lovely prompt: 
> 
> Hermione/Lestrange Brothers  
> Soul Bound?
> 
> #teamVenus

The tapping was incessant. Hermione moaned and sat up blearily, glaring at her window. Once she spotted the Ministry owl she started cursing under her breath. She slid out of bed and staggered over to the window. She had finally returned to wizarding Britain three weeks ago after spending three years in Australia searching for her parents. She had found them only to discover that they had died in a freak accident only one week after their arrival in Australia. Hermione spent several months after that just grieving quietly for her parents. Eventually Hermione had returned, but few people knew about it just yet. So far only Harry knew of her return. The Weasleys had collapsed in on each other and had holed up in the Burrow, trying to comfort one another over the loss of Fred. Harry had retreated to Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher had watched over him carefully; Harry had hesitantly asked Hermione to join him when she returned from Australia and she had agreed because she had nowhere else to go. She jerked the window open and snatched the official letter out of the bird’s beak, muttering darkly under her breath about the Ministry and what they could do with their official letters.

_Hermione Granger,_

_This letter is to inform you that the Ministry has determined that by defeating Bellatrix Lestrange in combat you have gained dominion over her possessions by right of conquest. We apologize for the delay in contacting you, but the Post War clean up took a great deal of time. War acquisitions were relegated to low priority and are only now being disbursed._

_You are required to come to the Ministry Department of Magical Law Enforcement to collect Mme Lestrange’s possessions at your earliest possible convenience._

_Hope you are well,_

_Bathilda Dotage_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

“Harry!”

A loud thump answered her frantic call, and then the pounding of bare feet against the floor. Harry skidded into her room bare-arsed naked with his wand in his hand. Hermione blinked. He spun in a loose circle.

“Whass goin’ on?” He demanded blearily. “You okay?”

“I—Harry you’re naked,” Hermione sputtered. He glanced down at himself and glared at her.

“You woke me up to tell me that I’m naked?” He demanded.

“What? No! I woke you because the Ministry sent me a letter telling me that when I killed Bellatrix that I won her things. That can’t be right, can it? I mean…when she…when she killed Sirius, she didn’t get his things,” Hermione asked anxiously, her brown eyes wide. Harry blinked at her.

“What?” He said, a frown making his brow furrow. Hermione handed him the letter and he glared at it for several moments. “Kreacher!”

“Master Harry called Kreacher?” The house elf looked expectantly up at Harry, completely ignoring the fact that he was naked. Hermione admired his professionalism.

“When Bellatrix killed Sirius, why didn’t she inherit everything through right of conquest?” Harry demanded. Kreacher looked surprised.

“Mistress Bella was killing the Head of her House. This is going against natural law and wizard law. Also, the House of Black is entailed. Everything is being kept with the estate for the next Head of House,” Kreacher recited. Hermione smacked herself in the forehead.

“Of course,” she said slowly. Harry frowned at her.

“What do you mean ‘of course’?” He snapped.

“Bella couldn’t claim anything because none of it was Sirius’s per se. It belongs to the House of Black—to the estate. It’s a way to keep people from destroying an entire House through dueling. On top of that, she killed the Head of her House. That’s like treason against the family,” Hermione explained. Harry nodded; that made sense.

“Right. Does that mean I can go back to bed now?” He asked hopefully. Hermione sighed.

“No, it means you have to put some clothes on and come with me to the Ministry of Magic,” Hermione informed him. He sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“Right,” he muttered. “Just give me a minute.”

“It’s probably just some pictures of Voldemort with dried drool patches on them,” Hermione said as they made their way toward the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a half hour later.

Harry glared at her. “That is disgusting,” he said flatly. “I’m going to have nightmares about that, see if I don’t.”

“Well, really, Harry,” Hermione said huffily. “What could the woman have owned whilst on the run with Voldemort? I certainly don’t want her ratty old robes. And I doubt that she owned property in her own right. It would all have belonged to her husband, I imagine. Wizarding law seems to be woefully backward about things like that.”

“I don’t see why I had to come along,” Harry groused. Hermione sighed and linked her arm with his.

“Because I needed you?” She suggested. He sighed because he couldn’t argue with that.

“Let’s just get this over with. We can have a lovely bonfire in the backyard, torch Bellatrix’s things and go back to bed, yeah?” Harry looked hopeful.

“Yeah, sure,” Hermione agreed. “Bonfire, then bed.”

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was hectic, Aurors raced back and forth busily. The receptionist squeaked and jumped to her feet when she saw them both. She pumped Hermione’s hand eagerly and then grasped Harry’s hand and practically wrung his arm off of his body. She curtseyed and then she bowed awkwardly and then she burst into a fit of giggles. Hermione and stared at her uncertainly and then turned to Harry who shrugged helplessly.

“Hermione! Thank Merlin you’ve come!” Kingsley Shacklebolt looked to be suffering from severe fatigue. Hermione turned to him, confused. That greeting sounded far too enthusiastic.

“Kingsley,” Hermione said hesitantly. “What—“

“Come along, quickly. We don’t have anyone to spare and this has been taking up time I don’t have,” he explained hurriedly. He grabbed her arm and tugged her down the hall.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Interrogation room 1,” he said absently, “It was the only place I could think to put them.”

“Them?” Hermione shrieked her eyes wide with horror. She stopped, rooted to the spot. “I—I didn’t inherit _house-elves_ , did I Kingsley?”

“House-elves?” Kingsley looked so surprised that Hermione relaxed for a moment before her gaze narrowed on him suspiciously.

“You said _them,_ ” she pointed out. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his bald pate.

“Yeah, I did,” he muttered. “Look, Hermione. This is…well, it’s a clusterfuck is what it is. I didn’t know what to do, but then the people over in Conquest & Inheritance said that it was your problem. Apparently, there were transfer of ownership papers and the magical bonds are automatically tied to you now.”

“Bonds?” Hermione repeated weakly. She licked her lips nervously and looked up at Shacklebolt. “It _is_ house-elves, isn’t it?”

“Maybe you should just see for yourself,” he muttered under his breath and continued on to the interrogation room.

There was one of those windows that looked like a mirror on one side; Hermione stared through it into the interrogation room. Her jaw dropped open and she stared at the miserable, huddled figures of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. They looked filthy and tired—still covered with the grime of the Final Battle she guessed. They were leaning against one another and somehow she knew that it was for comfort. Her mind refused to acknowledge why they were in the interrogation room. Instead, she looked around the rest of the interrogation room quickly and realized that there was a small box on the table where the Lestrange brothers were seated.

“It’s the box, then?” Hermione asked with forced politeness. Kingsley sighed.

“Everything in the room, Hermione,” Kingsley said.

“No,” Harry said flatly. “Just…no.”

“But…he was her _husband_ ,” Hermione whispered in a horrified voice. “And...and Rabastan was her brother-in-law. How could she _own_ them? And for Merlin’s sake have they been in this room for the last _three years_?”

“No, they haven’t been here for three years,” Kingsley protested, glaring at her. “They were in Azkaban until the Acquisition Department threw a fit a couple weeks ago. I can’t tell you how Bellatrix came to own them. We’re not sure, exactly, and we don’t have the people to spare for research. All we know is that they were bound to her magically, and by your defeat of her, that bond is transferred to you,” Kingsley said flatly.

“That sounds kind of like a house-elf,” Harry told Hermione. “When Sirius died, I didn’t have to do anything Kreacher was just mine.”

“Oh, _Merlin_ ,” Hermione said in a sick-sounding voice.

“As near as we can tell, she’s always owned them. They never acted of their own free will, they’ve always acted on Bellatrix’s orders,” Kingsley said and the exhaustion in his voice was almost palpable.

“That makes them innocent,” Hermione said slowly, staring at the two men in the interrogation room. They looked frightened, she realized. She didn’t know how she knew, she just did. Was it the bond? Her mind shuddered away from that idea, unready and unwilling to deal with it.

“Hermione, no,” Harry said flatly, watching her. Hermione turned to him with a determined look on her face and he sighed.

“They’re innocent, Harry,” Hermione said firmly. He snorted.

“It’s Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione!” Harry snapped. Hermione bit her lip anxiously.

“But, if they’re innocent,” Hermione said slowly, the wheels in her mind turning. She turned to Kingsley. “Can the DMLE tell what kind of bond it is?”

“They are soubound to you, as tightly as house-elves if not more so,” Kingsley said tiredly. “I’m sorry to the both of you, but you have to take them Hermione. They can’t stay here.”

“I can get a hotel room, Harry, if you’d prefer,” Hermione said softly.

“Actually, you have inherited Lestrange Manor as well,” Kingsley said with a heavy sigh. “The deed is in that box. Considering the fall-out we might get over this whole thing that might be your safest bet.”

“They can’t hurt her, can they? The way a house-elf can’t hurt its Master?” Harry asked Kingsley hesitantly. Kingsley rubbed his face with one hand and shook his head.

“No, it would be impossible for them to hurt her,” he said finally.

“What do we do if any of the Weasleys show up?” Harry asked Hermione plaintively. She bit her lip again.

“I’ll take them to… to Lestrange Manor, Harry,” she said softly, not looking at him.

“Hermione,” Harry begged her to understand.

“I get it, Harry, I do, but…if they’re innocent,” she said softly.

“Merlin, it’s S.P.E.W. all over again, isn’t it? Only for the Lestranges,” Harry said with a tired laugh.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “Harry–,” her voice was just as tired and the grief that lay just under the surface was a part of the both of them. He hugged her tightly.

“I understand, Hermione,” he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. “You said that I had a ‘saving people thing,’ but you do, too.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione whispered. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

“If you’ll just go in, Hermione,” Kingsley said gently. She took a deep breath, turned the handle and slipped into the room.

The two men slid from the bench to the floor and knelt, sitting on their heels. Their hands were splayed on their thighs and their heads were bowed. Hermione’s stomach lurched. She’d never had anyone react this strongly to her presence in a room before. They did not look at her or speak at all, yet she knew that they were completely focused on her. The idea of it made her heart pound in her ears and she stood silently for several minutes trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. Surely they were confused, worried, nervous. How could she alleviate their fears? How could she comfort them and make them feel safe? She thought for a moment. If she were in a similar position, she’d want to know what was going on. Knowledge about her situation would make her feel better.

“I killed Bellatrix at the Final Battle,” she said quietly, but firmly. They seemed to twitch or shiver when she said Bellatrix’s name. “The Ministry has determined that because of my actions, you…belong to me now.”

There was a swirl of magic around each man that settled around his throat; a brief glow that ended with a collar around each man’s neck. Hermione stared at the blatant indication of her ownership and felt vaguely ill. She was nervous and panicky. She wasn’t at all certain of what she ought to do, but she certainly couldn’t leave them to the Ministry’s tender mercies.

“So, erm, if you would rise and follow me,” Hermione said slowly. Both men rose fluidly to their feet and stood quietly, their eyes downcast. “All right, let’s go this way.”

* * *

Being followed everywhere she went was new and rather annoying for Hermione. She had used Kingsley’s private Floo to get herself and the Lestrange brothers to Lestrange Manor. It was dark and empty-looking and she swallowed the uneasiness she felt when she saw it. They had nowhere else to go. She moved forward toward the house and knew that they were right behind her. She paused and frowned over her shoulder at them. They paused too, frozen, not staring at her, but completely focused on her, waiting for her response. At this point, the idea of inheriting a house-elf or two didn’t seem half bad. It was much preferable to having the Lestrange brothers following her wherever she went.

“Is there something special we have to do?” She asked. She swallowed and tried again. “I mean to say, are there wards that we need to access? Does the Manor automatically know that I own it?”

One of them moved forward, he didn’t look up at her, but kept his eyes trained on the ground. “The Manor is in stasis, Mistress. It knows that it has passed to new ownership, but you have yet to take control. The gate should acknowledge you. The spell is _Agnoscat_.” Rodolphus, or at least she thought he was Rodolphus, said quietly.

She flinched at the ‘Mistress,’ but there was nothing she could do about that until she figured out how to fix this mess. “Can you show me?”

“I cannot, Mistress,” the Lestrange brother confessed and appeared to be upset that he had to tell her no. “They snapped our wands at the Final Battle.”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed. She turned to the gate and tried the spell as the Lestrange brother described it.

The gate glowed brightly and he talked her through tuning the wards to herself and to them. She could feel the _click_ as the wards accepted her.

“Well I guess that’s it then,” she murmured.

Silence followed her statement. They stood there quietly, waiting. She frowned at them before turning back to the gate. She strode forward and unlocked the gate. She moved onto the estate and then turned back toward her, her, well, the Lestrange brothers.

“Come along then,” she said impatiently and they hurried into the house, only to stand uncertainly near her. She fought the urge to stomp her feet and scream. Their nearness made her aware that they badly needed to bathe. She frowned at them. “Did they not allow you to bathe in Azkaban?”

“No, Mistress,” They chorused at her.

Hermione winced. “Right, well, you two both need to bathe. I trust you know where everything is.”

The two men led her to a large, well-appointed bedroom. Hermione sat down on a fainting couch and began to wait. She wasn’t certain what she ought to be doing, but she thought that she probably should keep an eye on the Lestrange brothers. She pulled a book out of her bag and began to read.

A half an hour later, Rodolphus walked out of the bathroom completely naked. Hermione blinked at him as Rabastan silently entered the bathroom to take his own shower. Rodolphus was older than she was, he was roughly Lucius Malfoy’s age, and he looked to be quite fit. He was tall and lean, as was Rabastan, and he had a well-muscled frame. She refused to let her eyes drift passed his firm stomach, following the trail of blue-black hair that led down his abdomen. She cast a silent drying and warming charm on Rodolphus and he looked at her in surprise. She handed him a bathrobe that Rabastan had laid out for his brother and averted her eyes while he pulled it on. A beard obscured most of his face and his long, lank hair covered the rest of it. Hermione waited patiently for Rabastan to bathe and spent her time observing Rodolphus. He seemed anxious and jittery and didn’t calm down until Rabastan came out of the shower and moved to stand next to him, also completely naked. What was wrong with the Lestrange brothers? She dried and warmed Rabastan and handed him a bathrobe. He shrugged into it and knotted the belt at his waist. He, too, suffered from unkempt hair and scruffy beard growth. She would have to take care of that, perhaps a trip to a beauty salon? It would have to be one in the Muggle world. Hermione could only imagine the shrieking and wailing if she tried to take them to a wizarding establishment.

“Since you led me directly here I’ll assume this room belongs to one of you,” Hermione said quietly. “I’ll, um, leave you two to get dressed.”

“You aren’t going to sleep here with us, Mistress?” Rabastan asked slowly, his brow furrowing slightly. Hermione paused.

“Um, no,” she said. She looked closer at the two men. “Do I need to? Is there, er, perhaps we should talk about the bond.”

“What do you wish to know, Mistress?” Rodolphus asked carefully. Hermione huffed slightly.

“Well, to start with, do you _have_ to call me that?” Hermione asked tartly. Both men just stared at her as though they weren’t certain what she was upset about.

“What, Mistress?” Rabastan asked cautiously.

“That, do you have to call me Mistress?” Hermione demanded. They blinked.

“It is who you are, Mistress,” Rodolphus said with a shrug. Hermione stared at him.

“Can you call me Hermione?” She asked. Both men looked very uncomfortable at that suggestion.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, Mistress,” Rodolphus said finally. Hermione snorted.

“But it’s okay to parade around in front of me naked?” She asked drily. Both men shrugged calmly.

“You are our Mistress,” Rabastan said mildly.

“I feel a headache coming on,” Hermione muttered darkly. She rubbed absently at her temples. “Right, so, do you _need_ physical proximity to me? I mean, will the bond cause you pain if I am not near you?”

“I am not certain, Mistress,” Rodolphus answered hesitantly. “Our previous Mistress had us sleep in her chamber.”

“Both of you? In her bed? _Together_?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide in shock. This was far more than she had ever wanted or needed to know about Bellatrix Lestrange and her bed-time activities.

“No, Mistress.” Rabastan shook his head. “We would usually sleep on the floor, at the foot of her bed.”

“What, like _dogs_?” Hermione felt revulsion rise in her throat.

“It was what our former Mistress commanded, Mistress,” Rodolphus said with that casual shrug that was starting to make her very angry. 

“Oh, hell,” Hermione growled in frustration. She had wanted to ward the room with them in it, and her out of it. She frowned to herself. House-elves could be away from their masters without any negative repercussions. They certainly didn’t have to sleep in the same room. No, they would be fine. “I think…I think we should be fine. I want you two to stay in these rooms. If something happens and you need me, call me. I will set up a charm that will wake me if you call for me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they said softly. She paused and looked at them both.

“Is there anything that you need?” She asked gently. There was hesitation from both men.

“Food would be welcome, if Mistress wishes us to eat,” Rodolphus said finally. _If she wished them to eat?_ Hermione closed her eyes for a moment to maintain her control.

“Let’s get a few things straight right now,” Hermione said firmly, automatically using what Harry liked to call her ‘bossy tone.’ “I want the both of you to keep yourselves fit and healthy at all times. That means that you must eat and sleep properly. You also must bathe regularly and groom yourselves. This means that I expect your hair to be brushed, your faces to be washed and your teeth to be clean. I expect you both to wear clothing that is neat, clean and in good repair. If you don’t have access to anything you need to comply with my expectations I expect you to tell me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” they replied softly.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed on them. She had the strangest idea that her little speech had made them both very happy. She suppressed a snort. A similar speech given to Harry and Ron would have produced a vastly different reaction, with ‘bossy little swot’ being the nicest words used.

“Very well,” she said huffily. “I have no idea what do with this house, so how shall we procure food?”

“The house-elves?” Rabastan suggested uncertainly, and she could see that he was anxious. She bit her lip.

“Do you have house-elves here?” She asked. Both brothers looked at one another and then shrugged. She fought to control the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes at them. “Very well, I’ll Floo out and pick up a few things.


	2. Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years with Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan are not willing to blindly trust in anything anymore. Certainly they aren't going to blindly trust that their previous Mistress' enemy will treat them well.

Warmth was the first sensation that Rodolphus recognized as he came to awareness. The warmth shifted against his side and he realized that it was his brother Rabastan. Softness was the next sensation. He shifted himself to place a hand on his brother, to calm Bas and let him know that he was there, that he was not alone. The bed was the softest, cleanest bed he’d slept in in quite some time. Bas made a contented sighing noise and Rodolphus knew that his brother was aware of his presence. He looked around him.

Their Mistress had allowed them to stay together. She had washed them and clothed them and fed them and soothed their fears. He hadn’t felt this safe, this cared for, in many years. They had known at once when their bonds shifted, and to whom the bond had shifted. On the one hand, he’d been genuinely happy for the first time in over twenty years to know that his former wife was dead, and they were free of her, but on the other hand he was terrified about how his new Mistress might treat him and his brother. Rabastan had been worried as well, and during the years they’d spent locked up he had shared his fears with Rodolphus. So far, she had been kind, but Rodolphus wasn’t willing to trust her just yet. He sat up and looked around the room. She wanted them to be well-groomed. It had been an order, so he rolled out of bed and walked easily into the bathroom for such orders were his pleasure to carry out. He was walking out of the bathroom, towelling his hair when he heard a squeak. He looked up to see her with bright red cheeks. Mistress was so easy to embarrass.

“Good morning,” She said, carefully not looking at him. “Er, I’m making breakfast so if you would wake your brother and get dressed, please. Um, how do you like your eggs?”

“However, Mistress wishes to make them will be fine,” he said carefully. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick, asking him how he’d like his eggs. It was the sort of thing his late wife would have asked, and then would have had a house elf prepare them perfectly and eat them in front of him.

“Do you not care for eggs? Would you rather oatmeal or something? A bacon butty?” She asked.

“Whatever Mistress wishes to offer for breakfast will be fine,” he said politely.

She huffed at him in irritation. “One half-hour,” She snapped before turning on her heel and stalking down the hall.

He had upset her… that much was obvious. Fear snaked through him. His brother instantly stirred on the bed, opening his eyes warily. He sat up and looked around him uncertainly. Rodolphus stood patiently, waiting for Bas to get his bearings. Rabastan took in his brother’s naked, squeaky clean form and stood up. He obviously remembered their orders as well. He murmured a sleepy good morning to his brother and then slipped into the bathroom to shower. The luxury of being allowed to sleep in a bed and to bathe must not make him weak. He must stay aware and wary—not only for his sake, but for his brother’s sake as well. He slowly pulled on the clothes in the dresser and waited for his brother to come out of the shower. When Bas came out, they both padded downstairs barefoot and followed their noses to the kitchen.

“Sit down and eat your oatmeal,” She commanded, her back to them. “There is honey and molasses on the table. I put some sultanas out, too, if you’d rather. There’s tea in the pot.”

The brothers sat down gingerly, automatically wary about the privilege of sitting at the table. There were many little dishes littering the table filled with jams, dried fruits, sugar, and a small cream pot. Rodolphus carefully poured tea for himself and Bas, who was sprinkling sultanas liberally into his oatmeal. His younger brother took an indecently large bite of oatmeal and closed his eyes, chewing blissfully. It had been an exceptionally long time since they had had a hot meal. Rodolphus grabbed the honey and drizzled some into his own bowl. When she turned about, two plates in her hands, their oatmeal bowls were scraped clean. She blinked at them in surprise and then carefully set down the plates in front of them. Bas’ eyes widened comically at the plate she set in front of him. A fluffy mound of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, a rasher of bacon and broiled tomatoes. Rodolphus’ mouth watered at the bounty in front of him. They tried to eat neatly and politely, but both men still ended up practically inhaling the food in front of them. Rodolphus felt almost painfully full, but he didn’t care.

“Now, we have a lot to accomplish today and only so many hours in the day,” She said with a determined glint in her eye. Rodolphus kept his eyes downcast, but he had gotten adept at peeking out of the corner of his eyes over the years. “We obviously need to get the both of you clothing, and then we’ll need to have your hair cut as well.”

“Cut?” Bas blurted and then turned red when Rodolphus’ eyes cut toward him. “Mistress?”

“Yes, it’s all matted into knots,” She said with a frown for their hair.

“Yes, Mistress,” Rodolphus murmured and Bas hastened to echo him. He could feel her gaze narrow on them, he could feel her irritation.

“What is bothering you two?” She demanded. They remained silent. “Tell me why having your hair cut bothers you.”

“It is customary for a grown wizard to have long hair, Mistress. In the past, a shorn head was a sign of penance, punishment, or pestilence,” Rodolphus said quietly, staring at his lap.

“I see,” She said softly. “We shall see what the stylist says, and we shall try to keep as much length as we can. If we must there are always hair growth potions.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they murmured. She huffed at them again.

“That’s another thing, for Merlin’s sake you two cannot call me Mistress whilst we are in the middle of Muggle London. Call me Miss Granger if that appeases your sense of propriety,” She said firmly.

“Yes, Mistress,” they murmured again. She made a noise in the back of her throat.

“That had better not happen while we’re out,” she muttered darkly.

Trying to find shoes proved impossible—Rodolphus and Bas’ feet were far too large for the ones they found. She had to transfigure shoes for them both. He saw her biting her lips to keep from laughing out of the corner of his eye when they stood, and she saw the way the trousers fit them. She carefully lengthened the pant legs and made the undershirts slightly bigger so that they did not pull uncomfortably. He watched Bas look at him in confusion. Kindness was rarely shown to them, and usually was a precursor to something incredibly unpleasant.

Muggle London was loud and jarring and it made him nervous. He crowded close to his brother and Bas huddled against him, shaking slightly when they heard a loud noise that she said was a car horn. She took them to a clothing store and had the salespeople help dress them. He was very aware of her scrutiny as the salespeople made them both try on many different things. He tried everything on that was handed to him. The salesman waiting on him measured him from head to toe and he stood silently for it all. Bas kept stroking the trousers and the shirts he tried on as though he couldn’t believe that he was wearing new clothing.

“What do you think?” She asked finally.

“Whatever you decide will be fine, Mis—s Granger,” he said quietly. Her gaze narrowed on him.

“Very well,” she snapped. “We’ll take the lot. I’ll also need socks and underwear for the both of them.

The next store sold shoes and he and Bas were carefully fitted for new ones. She picked shoes that looked similar enough to what a wizard might wear. He had had a pair like them once. Of course, his had been hand-made and Italian leather, but that had been a long time ago. Once they were done there, she was dragging them toward the hair salon. She marched them in and spoke quietly to the stylist who was eyeing them with no small amount of trepidation. Then she was moving toward them, and he realized that she was trying to be gentle and calming.

“I’ve spoken to the stylist. They are going to shave your beards, and they will try to keep as much of the length as they feasibly can. Will that suit?” She asked them quietly.

“Yes, Mis—s Granger,” Rabastan murmured quietly. She sighed heavily.

“Now, it won’t be done magically, but you can’t flinch, cry, shriek or panic. These people are professionals. They know exactly what they are doing. Let them do their jobs and I promise you that they will not hurt you,” She said firmly.

“Yes, Miss Granger,” they said solemnly. She sighed and let the stylists lead them away.

The stylist pulled out a wicked looking blade and Rodolphus tried to take deep, calming breaths, his wide eyes on the blade at all times. She made him tilt back in the seat and put a warm towel on his face. It made him nervous, but he could feel his Mistress nearby and she was completely calm about the whole matter. The stylist smeared some sort of thick, white potion on his cheeks and chin, and made him tilt his head back so that she could do his neck. Then she brought that wickedly sharp blade to his skin and carefully shaved him. He willed himself to remain calm. When she was done, he sat up and eyed his jaw line. She had done well, he had to admit it. The cutting of his hair was not nearly as traumatic as he had thought it would be, and the stylist kept her promise to leave it as long as she could. She exclaimed several times over his hair, telling him how gorgeous it was and how much she loved it, but he ignored her chatter. It only mattered what his Mistress thought, whether it pleased her. Anything else was irrelevant.

“Well, what do you think?” The stylist asked eagerly, sending him a sultry smile. He studied himself dispassionately in the mirror. He looked much better. His hair fell to just past his shoulders. His cheeks and chin were smooth. There would be a shadow there soon enough, his hair grew quickly and always had done. He turned to his Mistress. She blinked at him and he could see her surprise and…pleasure?

“Does it please you, Mis—s Granger?” He asked cautiously. She tilted her head to the side and scrutinized him.

“It will do,” She said finally. She turned to Bas. “Is the length acceptable to you?”

“Any length Mis—s Granger chooses will be fine,” Bas murmured softly, staring at his lap after sneaking a peek at Rodolphus’ hair.

“Very well, do the same to Rabastan,” She commanded the stylist. Rodolphus repressed the urge to smile. His Mistress was a bossy little witch, and he wondered if she realized how imperious she naturally was.

When the stylist was done with Bas, Rodolphus could not help the wicked grin that crossed his lips. His brother had not looked so well in years. His blue-black hair fell passed his shoulders and Rodolphus could see his brother’s pale blue eyes clearly. Bas graced him with an answering grin and his dimples flashed in his cheeks. The stylist practically cooed at the two of them, and they moved away from her and toward their Mistress. Their Mistress seemed to understand their distress because her cold gaze was fixed on the stylist who was rhapsodizing about the cleft in Bas’ chin.

“Yes, thank you, now how much do I owe you?” She demanded icily.

The rest of the day was taken up with shopping for groceries and toiletries. Rabastan opened several of the potion bottles and sniffed them experimentally. He frowned darkly and Rodolphus took a cautious sniff. He coughed and his eyes watered. Their Mistress frowned at them both and they cringed slightly, but she merely took the bottle out of Rodolphus’ hands and sniffed at it. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she sneezed.

“It is a bit strong, isn’t it?” She said when she recovered, and she put the bottle firmly back on the shelf. “Let’s check out and go home.”

Their Mistress stocked the bathroom with toiletries for them and showed them where everything was. She cleaned out all of the old things and had them put their clothes away in the dresser. Then Mistress informed them that she was going to prepare dinner and that they could amuse themselves until she called them. Rodolphus was wary of such apparent freedom; it usually meant a clever trap. He and Bas moved cautiously toward the blue parlour that their Mistress seemed to favour. He remembered the bookshelves filled with books that his grandfather had put there to please his grandmother. Rodolphus scanned the shelves looking for something that seemed interesting. He glanced at the table next to the chair their Mistress seemed to like the best and found a slim volume that looked promising and sat on the floor to read it. Bas looked questioningly at him and he shrugged. Mistress had said they must amuse themselves; she had not said anything about the privilege of sitting on the furniture and he was taking no chances that such behaviour would earn him punishments. He liked being clean and warm and well-fed, thank you very much. Bas found a book and sat next to his brother on the floor.

“Bas, listen to this: ‘Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred; because he can endure very well being feared whilst he is not hated, which will always be as long as he abstains from the property of his citizens and subjects and from their women.’ Does that not sound like the advice Grandfather gave us?” Rodolphus asked his brother eagerly.

“I should have known,” their Mistress murmured as she came out to fetch them. Rodolphus wondered if he had erred in some way, if he had displeased her, but She seemed amused.

“What is it, Mistress?” Bas asked curiously. Her lips curved into a small smile.

“It is an instructional manual on how to properly rule,” She said at last. “It is called ‘ _The Prince_ ’.”

“Machiavelli,” Rodolphus said slowly. “Wasn’t that the name of that Dark Lord in Italy?”

“Oh, I think so,” Bas agreed thoughtfully. “The one that lived a couple centuries before Grindelwald.”

“You have a manual on how one might become a Dark Lord, Mistress?” Rodolphus asked curiously, his eyes wary and respectful. She huffed at him and Her cheeks turned pink.

“It was my father’s,” she snapped irritably. “He read it to me when I was a child.”

“Your father trained you from childhood to become a Dark Lady, Mistress?” Rabastan asked in a soft, respectful voice, his eyes wide.

“ _What_?!” Their Mistress was agitated and distressed. Rodolphus thought he understood the problem.

“Was this why Mistress does not care to be called Mistress?” Rodolphus guessed tentatively. “We meant no disrespect, I swear. We will address Mistress by her proper title, my Lady.”

“Oh, for the love of,” Their Lady’s faced was turning red and she appeared to be even more agitated. She took several deep breaths and then fixed them both with a stern look. “I am not a Dark Lady, nor do I plan to become one. I never thought I would ever say this, but I command you both to call me Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they said in unison. Their Mistress was still watching them with a frown.

“Why are you on the floor?” She demanded. Rodolphus and Rabastan looked at one another uncertainly and then turned back to their Mistress.

“Mistress ordered us to amuse ourselves,” Bas said slowly, looking uneasy. Frustration flashed in the eyes of their Mistress and both men tensed, waiting for the pain to come. Instead, their Mistress sighed heavily.

“I would prefer it if you would both sit where and when it would please you to sit. Except at the dining table,” she said suddenly, her brow furrowed. “I must insist that you sit in a chair at the table when you eat your meals.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they murmured, their heads bowed.

“Come along, then,” She said with an air of resignation, “I’ve got dinner ready.”

That night, Rodolphus settled in bed next to his brother. Bas was reading in bed because their Mistress had given them permission to take any book they wished to their room. Rodolphus was exhausted and just wanted to sleep. He threw an arm over his eyes and let his mind wander for a moment. So much had happened in the last few years. When Bellatrix had died…he’d been happy. He and Rabastan had stopped fighting immediately; they had handed their wands over and then watched as the vindictive bastards snapped them in half. That had hurt, almost like a physical ache in his gut.

The Aurors had not been gentle with Rodolphus or Rabastan, but neither of them had cared. Despite their best efforts, the Aurors could not hold a candle to their late Mistress in the application of pain. Then their new Mistress had come for them—She who had been the bane of their previous Mistress’ existence—and they had feared her treatment of them. They knew of their Mistress’ reputation as a fierce fighter with a vindictive streak. She could have been cruel and capricious, she could have been mad like their previous Mistress, but she was not. She was kind and she was considerate of their needs. She treated them like people, which was strange and different, but he found he liked it. He wondered idly if their new Mistress would demand that they service her, as they had their previous Mistress. Rodolphus thought about her soft, sweet-smelling skin and her large eyes and his body tightened in response, which surprised him. He hadn’t taken any personal pleasure in sex in more years than he cared to count. His previous Mistress had cared only for her own pleasure. This new Mistress…he had a feeling that she would be different in that aspect as well.


End file.
